Debra Mullins (4 page)

“In good time. I’ve only just resigned my commission, Mother,” he said, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “First I must secure some way to increase my fortunes.”

“Henry tells me you’re seeking a position with Edgar Vaughn,” Lavinia said.

Rome raised a brow. “Gossip spreads quickly through the government offices, I see. Yes, I plan to speak to Mr. Vaughn about a position.”

“That’s splendid!” Eleanor exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Will you move in the diplomatic circles, Roman?”

“It all depends on Mr. Vaughn. At least he didn’t slam the door in my face the instant he heard my name.”

“Devereaux is a fine name, an old name,” Eleanor reminded him. “And you do it proud.”

“Not all people associate the name Devereaux with scandal and gossip,” Lavinia pointed out, earning a look of astonishment from both mother and brother. “Well, they don’t! Roman has had to work harder than anyone else to atone for Papa’s sins, and he’s restored honor to the Devereaux name.”

The clock chimed the hour, and Rome seized on the distraction. “Ladies, I am neglectful of my duties. If we don’t leave straightaway, we will be late for dinner with Haverford.”

Lavinia gave a squeal of alarm. “Henry will be so very vexed if I am late to an earl’s dinner!”

“And where is Emberly this evening?”

“His presence was required at a political gathering with the Duke of Wellington.” Lavinia flashed him a saucy grin. “Which is why you must be my escort this evening, dear brother.”

“Will my labors never cease?” Rome groaned. “Fetch your wrap, brat.”

Giggling, Lavinia hurried from the room, calling for Hinton. Rome turned back to his mother and offered his arm. “You do realize that any plans Haverford has for a peaceful evening have just been ruined? Vin will chatter incessantly to anyone with the bad luck to be seated near her.”

“I, for one, plan to enjoy myself thoroughly.” Eleanor slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I haven’t been to an elegant gathering in ages.”

Because Father’s scandal ruined that for you.
Rome
forced a smile. “Come, Mother. The carriage awaits.”

Marcus Devereaux, Earl of Haverford, always appeared charming and well-spoken. A tall man of thirty years, he handled himself with a quiet maturity that belied his youth. His dark hair contrasted with calm gray eyes behind his spectacles, and his face was handsome enough with no pimples or pockmarks to mar it. His clothing was simple yet well tailored, such as the basic black evening clothes he wore tonight.

All in all, he didn’t make a bad potential husband.

Anna stood quietly beside her parents as her father engaged Lord Haverford in conversation. Having no interest in the state of the wool market in Yorkshire, she let her mind drift.

She had known her entire life that she was destined to become Lady Haverford. Her parents had reminded her again and again how lucky she was, that if it hadn’t been for her papa’s childhood friendship with Lord Haverford’s father, she, the daughter of a mere naval officer, would never have been able to look so far above herself for a husband.

She had accepted her lot. She knew her parents were trying to secure the best possible future for her, and so she had never dared dream beyond what she knew she would receive.

They had tried to secure Anthony’s future as
well, urging him to join the navy like Papa. Of course Anthony had had his own dreams, and he and Papa had fought incessantly about the direction his future would take. How many times had she advised her twin to just accept his lot in life as she had? At the time, she had found it comforting to know her future had been secured.

And yet now that her betrothal loomed on the horizon, she couldn’t help but wonder what more life might have offered if she’d been able to choose her own destiny.

Between the deaths of Haverford’s father and Anna’s brother, the betrothal had been delayed over two years. Now here she stood, nearly twenty-one years of age, finally at the side of the man who would be her husband.

And she didn’t feel so complacent after all.

The impending marriage was
there
, right in front of her. Papa had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to finalize the arrangements as soon as possible. She studied the young earl, whom she had only met twice before over the years, and tried to imagine living her life beside this man, managing his home, acting as his social hostess.

Bearing his children.

That last brought her up short. Of course he would want children. He was an earl and needed heirs, and as his wife, she would be expected to provide them. But she wasn’t as naïve as she had once been. She knew some of what occurred between man and woman.

Memories from the night before flooded her mind—sight, sensation, and sound. She grew breathless just thinking about it.

Would Lord Haverford expect to kiss her like that? Touch her like that? Only years of practice allowed her to keep her expression serene as her mind exploded with panic.

She found Lord Haverford pleasant enough, but the thought of him undressing her, kissing her, slipping his hand between her thighs…She tried to envision it, tried to feel enthusiastic about it. But every time she formed the images in her mind, Lord Haverford’s bespectacled face blurred and became the hawklike features of a stranger.

Rome.

Heat swept over her. She could still feel his hands holding her close, his lips on her skin, the pleasure that had coursed through her at his touch.

Dear God, he was a complete stranger, and yet she could not forget their encounter.

She should push it from her mind, pretend it never happened. She was not Rose, the poor soul forced by financial circumstances to seek her living on the streets. She was Miss Anna Rosewood, daughter of Admiral Quentin Rosewood, a gentle and well-bred lady who would soon become betrothed to an earl.

She had no business even thinking about another man, much less the scandalous intimacies “Rose” had shared with him.

“Are you cold, Miss Rosewood?”

Had she shivered with the memory? Dear Lord, she had.

Anna met Lord Haverford’s gaze, able to keep her voice steady only from arduous hours spent learning the skill of self-control. “Not at all, my lord. Do continue with your story.”

The earl launched back into his tale. An imperceptible nod of approval from her father and the surreptitious pat on her arm from her mother told her she had said the right thing. Thank goodness for that, as she hadn’t been attending to the conversation at all!

The butler stepped into the room. “Lady Florington,” he announced, then moved aside. A tiny elderly woman with a monstrous purple turban appeared in the doorway.

“Excuse me,” Haverford said, stopping dead in the middle of his story. He went over to the lady and kissed her cheek, then exchanged a few words.

“That’s the earl’s great-aunt,” Henrietta whispered to Anna. “She’s a bit mad, but he dotes on her, so do have a care what you say to her.”

“Yes, Mama.” Anna pasted a welcoming smile on her face as Lord Haverford brought his aunt to meet them.

“Admiral Rosewood, Mrs. Rosewood, Miss Rosewood, I would like to introduce to you Lady Florington, my dear aunt.”

The pleasantries were exchanged, and Lady
Florington produced a quizzing glass, which she used to examine Anna from head to toe. “This is the one, then?”

“Yes, Aunt Phyllis. This is Miss Rosewood. You’ve heard me speak of her.”

“Pretty enough, I suppose.” She dropped the quizzing glass and let it dangle from its ribbon. “Be sure you get an heir on her.”

“My aunt is rather blunt,” Lord Haverford said, with an embarrassed little laugh. Secretly appalled, Anna managed a nod and a smile.

“Skinny,” Lady Florington added.

The earl closed his eyes briefly as if seeking patience, then cast Anna a flattering smile. “Miss Rosewood is a lovely woman, Aunt Phyllis.”

Lady Florington gave a snort in reply, but said nothing more as she turned and found herself a chair.

The butler entered the room again. “Mr. Roman Devereaux, Mrs. Oliver Devereaux, and Mrs. Henry Emberly.”

“Ah, here is the rest of my family.” Lord Haverford turned to her father as a trio of people walked through the doors to the drawing room. “My cousin Rome has just resigned his commission, Admiral, and is newly returned from the Continent.”

“Indeed?” The admiral looked on the new arrivals with interest, while Anna’s insides seemed to freeze.

Had he just called his cousin
Rome
?

No, it was impossible.

Lord Haverford went to welcome the newcomers, two women and a man. Anna watched the exchange of greetings without revealing any save the most mundane interest, but her heart pounded like a rabbit’s. That tall, dark-haired man…Those broad shoulders. That blade of a nose. How many men could there be named Rome?

Then again, what were the odds that Lord Haverford’s cousin was the type of man to frequent a place such as Vauxhall? In her experience, most military men were Spartans at heart, disdaining the careless decadence of Society’s pastimes.

Over the heads of the ladies, Mr. Devereaux looked up and scanned the room with casual interest. Anna stopped breathing and shrank back a step behind her mother.

It was
him
.

The earl returned with the newly arrived guests in tow. As he performed the introductions, Anna kept her eyes demurely lowered, panic screaming through her mind. It was him. Dear God, it was him, and her secret would be exposed!

“And may I also present Miss Anna Rosewood. Miss Rosewood, this is my aunt, Mrs. Devereaux, and my cousins, Mrs. Lavinia Emberly and Mr. Roman Devereaux.”

Forced by good manners to look up, Anna first acknowledged Rome’s mother, a woman about her own mother’s age with kind green eyes. Then
she greeted Lavinia, a young woman with an infectious grin and bouncing dark curls. Finally, pulse skittering, she looked into the face of Mr. Roman Devereaux.

And saw familiar green eyes that held no recognition at all.

R
ome had always enjoyed the food prepared by the Haverford chef, and this evening was no exception. As he ate heartily, he listened with interest to Admiral Rosewood expound on his views of the newly restored king of France and the ex-emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte.

The admiral paused for a breath, and Rome glanced down the table at his mother. She conversed with Mrs. Rosewood, and her laughter carried to him at the opposite end of the table. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her. His mother hadn’t laughed nearly enough in the last ten years.

Lavinia was chattering away at Marc. Aunt Phyllis had fallen asleep at the table, and Miss Rosewood stared only at her plate, moving the
food about with her fork, though not a bite of it passed her lips.

This was the woman Marc intended to marry? This quiet mouse who dared not meet anyone’s eyes?

Society would eat her alive.

She glanced up at him and caught him studying her. For a long moment she held his gaze. He had expected shyness to be lurking in her wide doe eyes, but instead he saw intelligence and a hint of feminine awareness that took him by surprise. Then she looked away, her cheeks pinkening.

Good Lord, was she
flirting
with him?

He frowned. This woman was going to be his cousin’s wife, so he doubted she was trying to capture his attention. Perhaps he had misread her expression.

Then she glanced back at him, a very feline look in her soft brown eyes, as if she knew his every secret desire and wanted to make them all come true. It was the look Eve must have worn when she held out the apple, and he could no more resist than Adam. His blood quickened despite the impropriety of the situation. Then Miss Rosewood cast down her eyes and once more moved food around her plate with her fork, biting her lower lip.

Dear Lord, that mouth.

Marc laughed at something Lavinia said, jerking him away from his lusty musings. What was the matter with him? Miss Rosewood was his
cousin’s fiancée—or very nearly so—and he had no business thinking about her as anything more than a potential cousin.

But she seemed to have no such compunction. She kept sneaking glances his way. Whenever he caught her at it, she turned away quickly, blushing. The light played over her curling hair, accenting the exotic-looking structure of her cheekbones. Her lush mouth drew his attention again and again.

Damn it, this was his cousin’s woman! He loved and respected his cousin too much to ever cause him sorrow. Marc didn’t deserve that.

He wasn’t his father, blast it. There would be no more gossip about a Devereaux stealing another man’s bride.

But what if the bride was trying to attract
him
?

There was no doubt about it—she kept looking his way, and the gleam in her eyes was far too knowledgeable for the schoolroom miss she was purported to be. What sort of female
was
Anna Rosewood? On the outside she looked to be a demure and proper lady, but no society maiden had ever looked at him like she was starving, and he was a sweet pastry.

None that were innocents, at any rate.

Damn it all! Had Marc attached himself to some sort of wanton? Did the jade only want to marry Marc for his money and title? Was she so immoral that she would flirt with her promised
husband’s cousin right at Marc’s own dinner table?

Well, she had picked the wrong man if she thought to exercise her womanly wiles. He wasn’t about to stand aside while she cuckolded Marc before they were even wed.

And he would make sure she knew it.

Dinner seemed to drag on forever.

Her mother sent her frantic signals, mouthing silent suggestions and nodding imperceptibly toward Lord Haverford. The admiral regarded her sternly from beneath his thick brows, clearly displeased that she didn’t converse with the earl. But even though Anna knew she would bear the brunt of her parents’ displeasure later, she didn’t dare try and attract Lord Haverford’s attention. Not with Rome sitting right there.

She tightened her fingers around her fork to stop their trembling. He was regarding her with a considering eye. Did he recognize her? She hadn’t removed her mask, so she’d thought herself safe. But why else would he watch her so closely? Would he declare her a harlot in front of her family? Or would he pursue her further, hold his knowledge hostage in exchange for the favors she’d denied him the night before?

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She ate nothing, heard none of the conversation going on around her. Even if her parents threatened to lock
her in her room for the next month with nothing more than bread and water, there was no way she could possibly attempt to comport herself normally. By some miracle, Roman Devereaux had not recognized her. Why betray herself by speaking and perhaps sparking some memory in him?

Finally, the meal ended. Lady Florington awoke as the ladies rose from their seats. “What’s that? Is it time to depart?”

“No, Aunt Phyllis,” Haverford said, assisting the elderly lady from her chair. “It’s time to retire to the drawing room.”

“The ladies?”

“Everyone. We’re such a small party, I decided to forgo the formality of sending the ladies ahead.”

“Scandalous,” Lady Florington declared as her great-nephew escorted her from the room. “That was the worst dinner I’ve ever eaten. You must sack the chef, Haverford.”

“Yes, Aunt.”

Anna rose slowly. So, there would be no sanctuary for her in retiring with the ladies. No way to escape Rome. He lingered near the doorway, ostensibly to see to the comfort of his mother and sister, but his gaze never left Anna for more than a moment. The longer his gaze rested on her, the more difficult it became to breathe. Her stomach sank as dread swept through her. Why did he stare so? Had he actually recognized her?

As the admiral followed the earl from the
room, Henrietta descended on her like the wrath of Zeus. “What is the matter with you tonight, Anna?” she hissed in a low tone. “You haven’t spoken more than two words to Lord Haverford all evening!”

“There was no opportunity.”

“Nonsense. This is the perfect time to engage his lordship in conversation.” Mrs. Rosewood took Anna by the arm and fairly dragged her toward the exit—and Rome. “This is your chance to show your future husband what an excellent hostess you will be.”

They reached the doorway and paused while Rome’s sister passed through the portal. Rome cast Anna one last, enigmatic glance before offering his arm to his mother and escorting her through. Anna and her mother followed.

In the drawing room, a card table had been set out. Lady Florington had dozed off again beside the fire, while Anna’s father and Lord Haverford stood by two of the four empty chairs.

“Be charming, dearest,” her mother murmured. She sat in the chair her husband pulled out for her and gave Anna a pointed, sidelong look. With a mental sigh—for she was a very bad cardplayer—Anna resigned herself to taking the last chair.

“Oh, it’s been ages since I played!” Before Anna could take a step, Lavinia had slipped into the fourth chair.

Henrietta frowned, as did Lord Haverford. Anna
just stood near the table, relieved and yet uncomfortable in the face of her mother’s displeasure.

“Vin.” Rome approached the card table, having escorted his own mother to a chair by the fire. “Perhaps Marc would rather play with Miss Rosewood.”

“Oh! How cloddish of me!” Flushing, Lavinia jumped from the chair. “Do sit down, Miss Rosewood.”

“Nonsense. My daughter hasn’t the head for cards,” the admiral stated gruffly. “Do you, Mrs. Emberly?”

“Roman taught me to play,” Lavinia admitted shyly. “But I haven’t really done so since my marriage.”

Rome gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t be fooled, Admiral. My sister is very nearly a Captain Sharp.”

“Indeed?” Anna’s father raised a brow in interest. “Then do take the fourth chair, Mrs. Emberly. I’ve a mind for a good hand of cards this evening.”

Lavinia glanced in question at Anna.

Regardless of her mother’s look of warning, Anna waved a hand at the table. “Do play, Mrs. Emberly. I assure you I shall be more comfortable as a spectator.”

“You’re most gracious, Miss Rosewood.” Lavinia sat down at the table, a grin sweeping her face as Admiral Rosewood began to shuffle the deck.

“Sit by the fire with me, Miss Rosewood,” Mrs. Devereaux invited. “We shall have a lovely coze.”

“Thank you.” Stepping away from the card table and out of her mother’s range of vision, Anna made her way to the sofa, more than conscious of Rome’s towering presence as he trailed along behind her. She sat down beside his mother on the sofa with a respectful smile.

“Have you been in London long?” Mrs. Devereaux asked by way of starting a conversation.

“Not at all.” Anna grew momentarily distracted as Rome seated himself in the chair across from them, his expression forbidding.

“And what sights have you seen?” Rome’s mother asked. Anna forced her gaze away from the distracting man and managed to formulate a coherent answer to Mrs. Devereaux’s question. Soon the two of them fell into the familiar rhythm of polite conversation.

But it took all her concentration. Anna gave the correct replies by rote, her every sense alive with Rome. What was the matter with her? The man she was supposed to marry sat just on the other side of the room, yet she hadn’t given him a second thought since Rome appeared.

She had to get ahold of herself. Her entire future lay with Lord Haverford, not with Roman Devereaux. She must forget their encounter and pretend nothing had happened. She should be focusing on finding out the truth about Anthony’s
death. If she could just make it through this evening, then she would make it a point to avoid Roman Devereaux until the day she was finally wed to his cousin.

Provided he didn’t blurt out her secret before then.

“Miss Rosewood?” Mrs. Devereaux touched her hand. “Are you quite all right?”

“Yes.” She pasted a polite smile on her face. “I’m sorry. I grew a bit light-headed for a moment. Perhaps it’s the proximity to the fire.”

“Oh dear. We should move to the settee.”

“No, no.” Anna held up a hand when the older lady made to rise. “Please, don’t. I’m fine now. Do continue your story.”

“Are you certain?” Rome’s deep rumble sent a shiver down her spine. She turned to look at him, meeting his piercing green eyes with much more serenity than she felt.

“I am quite certain, Mr. Devereaux. Thank you for your concern.”

Trying to pretend he was just another piece of furniture, she attempted to block him from her mind and turned her attention back to his mother.

Rome seethed with annoyance as Miss Anna Rosewood so neatly dismissed him.

She sat there with her spine so straight it looked to crack, her hands folded demurely in her lap as
she conversed with his mother. To anyone else, she looked like the perfect lady.

But not to him. There was something about her, a secrecy that set his every instinct to full awareness. What was it? He watched the firelight flicker in her hair, and a hint of recognition swept over him, so fleeting that he could barely grab the thought. Frowning, he studied her, the curling brown hair with its glimmers of blond, the big brown eyes. She laughed, and an elusive dimple peeked briefly from beside her mouth. Where had he seen…?

She turned her head, and the light fell on an angle, casting a brief shadow across the upper half of her face. Almost like a mask…

Rose.

He struggled with the incredulity of it. The innocent debutante chatting with his mother could not possibly be the bold and worldly beauty. Rose was a young woman whose circumstances had so degenerated that she’d had to resort to the oldest trade in order to survive. She had possessed a fire that had drawn him irrevocably toward her and driven him mad with frustration when she had slipped from his grasp.

Anna Rosewood might be a flirt, but no young lady of her station would ever be caught dead masquerading as a courtesan, even in jest. It would mean the end of her social standing, and in Anna’s case, the end of her betrothal as well.

He could not imagine any situation that would cause Anna to take such a risk. It was not possible. There was no way the two women could be the same person.

Because if she
were
Rose…He recalled how he’d touched her, the intimacy they’re forged between them when he’d made her climax so easily, how he wanted her. The desire still burned like hell’s fire. He glanced at the woman seated primly before him. If it were true, then he had taken liberties with the woman Marc was courting. It was too horrible to contemplate.

But what if he had?

The notion refused to be dismissed. Even their names were similar…Rosewood…Rose.

Dear God, what kind of wanton was Marc shackling himself to?

He must get her alone and speak to her. At first he’d thought she was just a schoolroom miss with a wild streak. Now he didn’t know what to believe. Was she an adventuress of some sort? Had she masqueraded as a doxy for a bet or a dare? Or just for the sheer excitement of tasting the forbidden?

He studied the well-bred young lady across from him. Every hair was in place, every button buttoned, every mannerism and expression the product of years of proper teaching. Miss Anna Rosewood appeared a lady.

But he remembered a woman. Such a woman. His mouth went dry at the memories.

Something didn’t fit, and he meant to discover what. If not tonight, then soon.

He would not stand by while she made a laughingstock of the Earl of Haverford. The Devereaux name had suffered enough in past years, and Marc didn’t deserve the embarrassment. He was a good man, a fair man—and the only member of the family who would open his doors to Rome and his mother and sister after the scandal.

History would
not
repeat itself. As the son of the man who had once stolen a Haverford bride, Rome would see to it there was no more scandal brought upon the Haverford family.

She would have to see him again.

Anna accepted her wrap from the butler and followed her parents outside to their waiting carriage, lost in thought. What if Rome was a member of the secret society? What if he’d had a part in Anthony’s death? She would have to see him again, perhaps more than once, in order to determine what he knew about her brother’s last days. The knowledge dismayed her.